


the valley between our ribs

by octaiviablake



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 19:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2281974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octaiviablake/pseuds/octaiviablake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lincoln tells Octavia about his childhood and the way he was trained. Linctavia, mentions of past abuse, and some angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the valley between our ribs

The first time he leads her around the western valley, she assumes it's because of the last night's rains. It's safer to circle around, she reasons; in a few days, the hills will lose their slickness, and Lincoln will show her the forest and the river.

The second time he chooses to climb up the steep mountain pass instead of passing through the valley, it has been dry for four days.

"Shouldn't we fill our waterskins down by the river?" she asks.

"No," he responds, his eyes hardening. She does not ask about it again.

He tells her on dark nights about the reapers, about the radiation in the old cities and how it changed the people there, turning them into twisted beings more beast than man. He speaks in hushed tones about the must brutal wars between clans, and the sickness that stole his mother and younger brother.

He shows her every trail and every cave of the forest, but still he stays away from the valley. Octavia resigns herself to the knowledge that she will never know why.

 

A year after they first met, with battles and treaties behind them, they run into trouble on the road to the sea.

A soft rustling in the brush catches Octavia's attention, and she and Lincoln both freeze, their hands flying to the handles of their knives. A moment later, they catch sight of a group of reapers passing through. It's too big for them to take on alone; their only hope is to remain hidden until they move on.

For a moment it seems like luck is on their side, but then a reaper near the back of the party lifts his head higher and takes a long whiff of the air. Lincoln tenses. The reaper grunts excitedly, letting out a call, and Octavia and Lincoln turn and run.

The reapers give chase, following them deep into the wood. Winter has all but passed, but snow still lingers on the mountain tops and on the trees further north. 

They near the juncture between the mountain pass and the valley quickly, and as they run Lincoln says, "Head north, they won't follow us far." Octavia whips her head around and stares at him in disbelief.

"We'll never outrun them in the snow," she exclaims. "We can lose them in the river, come on." 

As she speaks, they reach the fork. She starts down the hill into new, uncharted territory, but Lincoln gets a frenzied look in his eyes and says "Octavia," in a warning tone.

A reaper's predatory howl reaches their ears, too close for them to waste another second, and Octavia sends him an imploring look. His reluctance to follow her rivals his resentment of the dropship's third floor, and it puzzles her.

"Do you want us both to die?" she hisses, unwilling to leave him but desperate to get away. Finally, Lincoln seems to unfreeze.

"Follow me," he murmurs as he overtakes her.

It's clear that he knows the valley well. He leads her straight to the slowest part of the river, wading across with ease. It's growing dark, and though the cries of their pursuers still rent the air, they are far enough away to slow their pace.

"Where can we spend the night?" Octavia asks, not liking the feeling of being in unfamiliar land.

"There are caves nearby," he replies shortly.

They reach the caverns by nightfall, the reapers lost but the threat of cold still present. Lincoln enters first, with no small amount of trepidation. He holds an arm behind him to shield Octavia from an invisible threat, and not for the first time, she wonders what this place is.

It's dark but dry, and once she sparks a torch, it's almost comfortable.

Lincoln looks anything but. He leans into the fire, warming his hands, and stubbornly stares into the flames as if in denial of his surroundings. There have been no signs of other inhabitants yet, but to be sure Octavia lights another torch and moves to illuminate the back of the cave. 

She stops short.

"Lincoln," she says slowly, "this is your drawing."

She's stating the obvious, as the broad strokes of charcoal on the cave wall are easily distinguishable as Lincoln's own. He stills, becoming completely motionless, and says nothing.

Octavia leans lower and discovers an old, rough-hewn bowl and a hunting knife lying on the ground.

"You lived here," she realizes aloud.

"Yes," he answers finally. "For a time."

After a moment, she settles beside him. She lays down the torch and smooths a palm over Lincoln's back. Much time passes before either speaks again. She's nearly asleep, her head resting against his shoulder, when, in a low voice, he says, "I died here. And then I was reborn." 

She doesn't know what to say. Doesn't understand, doesn't know if she wants to. Before she has the chance to gather her thoughts, he continues. The words flow out of him as if they've been pent up for years.

"I was not born to be a warrior. I followed the path of a healer, in my youth. I learned how to fix people. But after my mother… after my brother…" He shudders. "I couldn't fix them. No healer could."

Something has shifted; a missing piece of his past is finally falling into place, and he speaks quickly, as if to unload his burden onto her.

"I was so angry," he breathes. "I didn't understand how there was _nothing_ that we could do to help them. I didn't ever want to feel so helpless again. So I told my father that I had changed my mind. That herbs and healing were not for me. The next day, he gave me my first hunting knife." He casts a fleeting glance at the old dagger in the corner.

"If a child chooses the same path as their parents, it is tradition for mother to train daughter and father to train son." He pauses, unsure how to continue. "My father, too, was a warrior."

"So he trained you?" Octavia asks, her mind spinning. He nods.

"We were both so lost without my mother, him even more than me. I know his training saved my life, perhaps a hundred times over, but it was never the same between us again." Lincoln's gaze is still stubbornly fixed on the fire, and Octavia looks around slowly, taking in the small cave.

"He trained you here," she guesses, and his ensuing silence confirms her words.

"We hunted in the woods in the day, and he taught me all that he knew about fighting- about surviving," he corrects himself. "I stayed here at night for two years, away from the rest of my people to learn independence. It was…" He swallows hard, ducking his head. "Lonely."

Octavia shudders at the thought, reminded of her own isolated childhood.

"I hated him sometimes," Lincoln admits, his voice soft. "I didn't understand how he could treat me the way that he did, how he could leave me here every night to freeze, and never even look back."

Octavia buries her face into his shoulder to suppress an angry comment. If she and Lincoln's father ever meet, they will be certainly be exchanging heated words.

Lincoln points to a small, faded scar on his elbow, and says, "This was my first scar. I don't remember getting it as a child, only growing up with it already there."

He pulls his shirt aside and points hesitantly at a scar running along his collarbone. "This was the first scar my father gave me."

Octavia's heart clenches. The thought of Lincoln's loved one hurting him makes it hard to breathe, and she reaches up to ghost her fingers over the mark.

"It is part of the way we are trained," Lincoln explains, but she is already planning the vicious words she will throw at the man who did so much damage. "It is important to be able to withstand pain," Lincoln continues. "When your brother first brought me to your camp, I knew he could never make me talk. I was trained better than that." She cringes. 

After a moment, she gathers the courage to finally ask the question she's been scared to ask.

"How old were you?" Her voice is diminished; hesitant.

"Fourteen," comes his weary reply. She has to reach up to wipe away frustrated tears.

_I died here,_ he had said. _And then I was reborn._  

She wonders about the innocent, happy child he must have been before he lost everything. A boy that dreamed of healing; of fixing everyone's broken parts and making them whole again. 

_Murdered_ , she thinks. _Killed by a brutal father stricken with grief._

She feels sick. 

"How are you still good, Lincoln?" she asks, her voice thick with tears. "How can you still be so good, after that?"

He shifts, wrapping his arms tight around her and pulling her into his side. His forehead dips down to press against hers, and she feels him smile gently against her cheek.

"Someone reminded me about the good parts of life. About all the things worth living for; worth fighting for."

Warmth spreads through her body at his words, and she sniffles, smiling half-heartedly. "They sound like a keeper to me," she murmurs, and his chest rumbles against her as he chuckles.

"Yeah," he says, pressing a kiss to the corner of her lips. "Yeah, she is."

When dawn breaks, they leave the cave and make their way eastward through the valley. They're three days west of the camp that Bellamy and Clarke have set up by the sea. A thick layer of fog lays heavily over the land, smothering the trees and hiding the mountaintops.

When they reach the crest of the valley, Octavia turns back to take in the view. It's a dismal sight, the mist so thick she can hardly make out the river. The desire she'd felt before, the curiosity and drive to explore the land has disappeared entirely. She turns back to Lincoln, grasping his outstretched hand, and walks onwards.

She doesn't look back again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! Feedback is welcome and appreciated. You can find more of my writing on my tumblr, octaiviablake, where I take prompts.


End file.
